Good Man Turned Bad?
by susieq666
Summary: Horatio is conscious that he's not the man he was. He doesn't really understand what happened, and he's not sure he can correct it. And who can he turn to for help?
1. Chapter 1

_(Note to my readers - I'm doing something I don't usually do, which is post a first chapter without really knowing where I'm going to take the story. My feeling for a while has been that Horatio is in a bad way, and I wanted to explore that. I would appreciate comments - if I'm way off the mark, tell me. And I will try to 'save' him…)_

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 1

It was about five. A faint light showed in the sky. Horatio closed his eyes again. He'd slept badly, as usual. He shifted onto his back, with a faint wince. The still-recent bullet wound gave him a twinge of pain if he lay on his right side. During the day, it would ache… A dull soreness across his belly, sometimes into his groin, down his right thigh. He suspected they'd left a fragment of metal inside him, knew he ought to get x-rayed, but couldn't be bothered. He didn't really care and recognised that he wouldn't do anything about it, even if he knew, so what was the point?

There seemed little point in anything at the moment. Any pleasure or satisfaction the job had given him seemed to have gone. He tried to work out when that had happened. Not at Marisol's death, though it could have done. And not the shooting, traumatic as it had been. Before that… He thought it went back to the prison breakout. Bad enough that he had to catch the bad guys, but _twice_? Three times, in the case of Jack Toller… And somewhere, amid the mayhem and manhunts, something had been lost. He couldn't label it exactly, but he knew he'd stopped caring. At least, he began caring more about the bad guys than the victims. His anger, usually well-controlled, had come to the surface. He'd become more violent - it had been remarked on. No one had reported him. He knew his team, for the most part, supported him and would back him regardless. Once he had thought he had earned a certain amount of respect and affection from them, but not now. He was conscious of letting them down. He believed in leading by example, but wondered what sort of example he was setting now.

It was Eric he felt worst about. His brother-in-law… He sometimes, lately, found it hard to meet his eyes. Eyes that looked to him for guidance, reassurance. And eyes that looked at him with love. He knew Eric would support him to the grave and beyond, and he felt he didn't deserve that devotion. It was Eric who had picked him up after Toller's arrest - literally lifted him off the ground and held him in his arms, when blood-loss and his damaged breathing had finally floored him. He remembered sobbing for breath against Eric's shoulder, fighting pain and dizziness, all the while feeling the younger man's strength trying to help him. Yes, Eric deserved better from him.

The others… He was less worried about them. Calleigh's strong character would carry her forward, whatever he did. Ryan… he'd survive; disappointed, maybe, but he'd move on. Natalia… he had a feeling it would be Natalia who would 'shop' him, find one of his forays into rough justice too much to keep silent about. He had caught her giving him odd looks, as much as to say 'Did you really do that?' In a way, he wished she'd get it over with.

Horatio sighed, swung himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He turned the shower on and looked at himself in the mirror as it warmed up. He'd lost weight. His present frame of mind left him un-hungry, slightly nauseous. He couldn't be bothered to eat properly. Couldn't be bothered with much… Although he still cared about his appearance - that little vanity hadn't gone. He had even bought new suits, as his weight dropped, rather than just tighten his belt.

He stepped under the shower, allowing the water to splash into his face, driving out the gritty sleepiness, trying to wake up. He felt old. And tired.

He was at his desk by seven, forcing himself to eat an energy bar and drink a coffee, and making a good imitation of working on his laptop. He hoped for a call-out. Something tough, messy… dangerous… It was about all that roused him from his despondency. Even then, as they had crashed into the scene of a shooting, the previous week, Frank Tripp had snapped at him, 'You got a death wish or something?' and he wondered if he had.

Not consciously… though it came into the category of not caring. He stared unseeing at the laptop screen, and wondered if he should seek help. He smiled slightly as a thought of his old enemy, Rick Stetler, flitted across his mind. Rick would have recommended counselling. It had been his stock response for any sort of mishap, and getting shot and half-drowned would certainly have qualified. Yet he fought shy of professional help. He couldn't see how any outsider could understand his sort of life. A friend would be better, but he had precious few of those. It was out of the question to use one of the team - they expected only strength from him. Maybe Frank… The detective was not directly under his command, they went back a long way, and they were the same age… Yet he knew that Frank would have a hard time identifying with him. Frank didn't have the same propensity to question everything. Didn't have any problem in dealing out a bit of rough justice. Hadn't - if they were being honest - had the same level of pain in his life.

Horatio tried to think about this logically. Self-pity didn't sit well with him. He wondered if life had really been so hard on him. He'd had an appalling childhood… but so had plenty of others. He'd seen at least two colleagues die in front of him… but so had Frank, and many others in law enforcement. He'd lost his brother… twice… Thought he was dead, discovered him alive, then seen him die for real. He smiled faintly - everything seemed to happen to him twice. He wondered if God had decided it was the only way to ram anything into his thick skull. Thinking of Ray made him think of Yelina. He had loved her… Kept his hands off for a long time, because of Ray… He wished she was here. Her, he could possibly talk to…

A death wish… well, maybe he had… Although, of course, dying would be very easy - he carried a loaded gun whenever he was out of the lab. But simple suicide wasn't in him, he knew that. It was more a case of not caring much if the job got him killed. That _had_ started with the shooting. When he'd seen Marisol. Oh, he understood near-death experiences - lack of oxygen to the brain, etc., etc.. But he had been with her, talked to her, felt her hand, smelled her perfume… and then she had walked away, sent him back… Since then, that dream - for that was all it was, when it came down to it - had returned many times. He wanted to go, to be with her. But she always walked away…

Often, he brooded on his relationship with Marisol. He knew their marriage had surprised everyone. He had known her only a short time, she was half his age… It shocked people. He had - did - love her. Yet it was not - he felt guilty every time he admitted it to himself - a grand passion. Not soul mates. More than anything, he had wanted to spare her more pain. And spare Eric. If - when - her cancer returned, he would have given her the best care possible. He had never expected a long relationship, but, even in his worst moments, he had never foreseen that being his wife would get her killed. That was what hurt him most. He had set out to protect the whole of Miami, and managed not even to save his own wife. He lived with that guilt every day. He was amazed that Eric seemed to attach no blame to him. In fact, since Marisol's death, they had only grown closer.

There was a brief tap, and he looked up. Eric put his head round the door.

"Morning, boss."

"Eric…" He tried to smile, fairly unsuccessfully, he thought.

Eric frowned. "You OK?"

"Slept badly, that's all." Again, he found it hard to meet his colleague's eyes.

"Want some fresh air? We've got a body… Not even sure it's a crime, to be honest, but thought I'd take a trip out… If that's OK…"

"I'll come with you." He took his gun out of the drawer, clipped the holster to his belt, and followed Eric out of the door.


	2. Chapter 2

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 2

Calleigh's call rang no immediate alarm bells. "Horatio, can I talk to you?"

"Of course. Come up."

She sounded awkward. "I'd rather do it outside the lab…"

"OK…"

She went on quickly, sounding, for her, a little rattled. "Will you meet me in the garage?"

He went downstairs, and out to the garage. Calleigh was in the driving seat of one of the department Hummers. The engine was running.

He got in beside her. "You're being very mysterious…"

She didn't smile. In fact, she didn't reply.

Horatio frowned, but he was a patient man. He would wait for her to speak. She drove for about ten minutes, parking up at the beach, overlooking the water. She switched off the engine, but didn't open the door. Instead, she turned to look at him.

After some seconds, she said, "Justin Leverbrook."

"What about him?"

"You put him in hospital."

"I arrested him. He resisted."

"Horatio… He's got a broken jaw, fractured ribs, and a ruptured spleen…"

He looked out at the waves. "He's a double murderer."

"You don't know that…"

"Of course I do! So do you! You mean it hasn't gone to court yet? Don't be so pedantic, Calleigh…"

She was silent.

He looked at her then. "He's absolute scum. Why do you care?"

"I don't care particularly…Not about him…" She hesitated. "Natalia came to see me."

"Ah…" He knew then what was coming.

"She says you went wild. That Leverbrook was already restrained."

"Not strictly true… He was still moving." He tried a smile.

"Don't joke about it! What's happened to you?"

"Nothing's happened. I took down a bad guy. My job, remember?"

"I remember when your job didn't involve excessive force."

"How do you know there was? You weren't there. You believe Natalia, over me?" He knew he was sounding defensive.

"Of course not. If you tell me it wasn't excessive, I'll believe you. I'll tell her she misunderstood what she saw. Horatio… Come on… How long have we known each other? I'm on your side…"

"I didn't know there were sides. What's really going on here? Is she taking this to IAB? Is Leverbrook making a complaint?"

"No. Neither. Yet…" She put a hand gently on his knee. "Tell me what happened…"

"Nothing happened. There was a bit of a skirmish… I smacked him in the face, but he kicked off again as I was getting the cuffs on… Natalia had her weapon drawn, but she could hardly shoot him without hitting me. That's all."

"Where were the uniforms?"

"Way behind us. Calleigh… you know how things just happen sometimes… Not perfect, but you just do what you have to do."

"I know that."

"So what's Natalia's version? Or should I ask her?"

"That you kicked him after he was handcuffed and on the ground…"

"Maybe… I was angry. You know what he did…"

"H… You kicked him hard enough to do considerable damage… While he was helpless… What do you call that if not excessive force?"

Both were silent, a silence that stretched to minutes.

Horatio broke it, his voice quiet, "Why didn't Natalia come to me?"

"Because… I think she's a little afraid of you. Now."

He nodded. He felt vaguely sick, and suddenly, ridiculously, close to tears. "Then she'd better go to IAB."

"You don't want that."

"Maybe I deserve it." He heaved a sigh. "I don't know what's happened to me…"

"But you know something has?"

"Of course I do!"

"So talk to me."

He wanted to. He had brooded on things for weeks, decided he really couldn't talk to any of his team. Decided he probably did need professional help. Hadn't done anything about it. Tried instead to fight his depression, and curb his temper. And succeeded, to some extent, at least with the latter. Until Leverbrook.

The arrest should have been straightforward, since he had actually had a gun held on the man. All he had to do was to get Natalia to cuff him. But the man's smirking expression had triggered something in him, and he'd lashed out, first with the butt of the gun, then with his elbow.

His voice was hoarse as he murmured. "I should probably resign."

He felt Calleigh take his hand. "No, sweetheart, no…" She was silent for a while. "I do think you need help though. If we're to get you over this."

"Why would you bother?"

"Because we love you. Don't you think we've noticed how it's been for you recently? You've seemed more hurt, more lost… more alone… than I've ever seen you."

"I didn't think it showed."

"Come on, how could it not? All right, maybe Walter hasn't seen it, he hasn't known you that long… Maybe not even Ryan or Natalia… But me? And Eric? Did you really think Eric wouldn't notice?"

"He hasn't said anything."

"Because he doesn't know what to say. And because, frankly, anything you do is OK with him. Horatio… I don't think this one's going to go away. I know Leverbrook deserves everything that happens to him, and I know he's about as stupid as they come, but some lawyer is bound to come sniffing around. Once there's a police brutality claim in motion, there's not going to be much we can do."

"Especially when it's true…"

She shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first to lose your temper with a suspect. With your record, they wouldn't demote you, or anything serious. It's not that… It's what the stress would do to you. Horatio, my only concern is what's happening to you. You are so unhappy, aren't you?" When he didn't reply, she added, "You're OK physically, aren't you? I mean, you were shot…"

"I'm OK physically."

"Truly?"

"Truly. It's nothing to do with the shooting."

"Do you know what it is to do with?"

He sighed again. "Not really. I've tried to analyse it. Can't pin it down. I've just… lost focus… Forgotten why I do this job. Everything feels… so hard… and so pointless…"

"You need help, Horatio. Now. Before this all blows up. Some time off…"

He shook his head. "Time off? What would I do with that?" He lay back against the headrest, gazing at the sea.

They sat in silence for a while. So they knew… Horatio wondered why he had ever supposed it wouldn't be noticed. They had always been a close-knit team… He thought that the fact Calleigh seemed to understand - at least part of it - ought to be making him feel better. Except it didn't. He felt considerably worse, as if something he had thought hidden was now revealed for all to see. He felt tears perilously close to the surface, and fought them back.

At last, he murmured, "What should I do?"

"Talk to someone…"

"You?"

"A professional… Look, we can talk whenever you want, you know that, but I've got no qualifications, not the skills you need… I'm really not sure I'd be able to help you. But I don't think you should go to the department shrink."

"No?"

"Well, for one thing, it won't stay secret, whatever they say. And secondly, he's a man… And…" She hesitated. "I think you talk more easily to women…"

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "You recommending someone?"

"No, unfortunately, I don't know anyone. I can make a few enquiries. I'll be very discreet…"

He sighed. "OK."

"Shall I take you home?"

He turned to look at her, and forced a smile. "No, let's go back. I'm all right."

She reached over and put her hand on his cheek. "I wish that was true…"


	3. Chapter 3

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 3

As they approached the lab, Horatio said quietly, "You know I'm going to feel everyone's watching me…"

"I was afraid you would. They're not, you know. I am, I suppose, and Eric's conscious that you're not yourself, but we don't sit and discuss you. The others aren't 'watching you' - not in the sense you mean."

"What about Natalia? I should see her…"

"No, actually, I don't think you should. I'll talk to her. I've told her I'll handle it - she has to let me."

"Do you think I should stay in the lab? Stay out of the field?"

His tone almost broke her heart. She parked the Hummer and switched off the engine. "This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. I've hurt you…"

"Calleigh, I've hurt myself. I'm just asking for your advice."

"I think you should probably work as normal. You could take sick leave - no one would blame you - but I think being stuck on your own, at home… isn't going to help." She hesitated, and he was conscious of what a difficult position he had put her in.

"Calleigh, you're my deputy. If you think I shouldn't be here, say so. You're perfectly capable of running the show."

"Stop it." She took his hand again. "It's your 'show'. Always has been. I hope, always will be. We want you here, but we want you well. And you're not. So just let us - me - help. If you're going out, take me or Eric. Otherwise, just go on as normal. You're still brilliant at the job, and a brilliant boss."

"Hardly."

"Oh, you are. You're the guiding light… The reason this group of people functions so well, the reason they'll put their own comfort and safety into second place if necessary. Who do you think they take that lead from?"

"You don't need to flatter me."

"I wouldn't. You know me better than that. Come on, let's go in." As they walked towards the building, she added quietly, "Nothing's changed. No one's gossiping. Just leave things with me… And be a bit kinder to yourself."

Horatio sat in his office for a full hour, staring, unseeing, at the papers in front of him, while a cup of coffee grew cold on the desk. Unusually, no phones rang, no emails came through, no one knocked at the door. He felt… he wasn't sure… stripped bare, flayed… his tough confident exterior breached. Knowing he was struggling with the job was one thing. Having other people know, quite another. Yet he could hardly feel surprised.

He had dated the start of his problems back to the prison break… Not that he was sure, but it was the nearest he could get… Nine months… Nine months of trying to recapture vicious men, who knew all the moves, as well as deal with the regular workload. He knew that alone wasn't sufficient explanation for how he felt. He was hardly unaware of his own reputation and his matchless record. Once, all that would just have been a challenge, even something to be savored. Yet it had turned into a hard relentless unforgiving slog. He didn't think he'd lost his edge, could still outmaneuver the criminals, but he got no satisfaction from it. He was tired. Physically, because he wasn't sleeping or eating properly… Although it was a bit Catch-22… If he didn't feel so bad mentally, the physical side would take care of itself. And if he felt physically well, then maybe he could pull himself out of his depression. As it was, he was conscious only of an ever downwards spiral.

The thought of a full investigation into his latest bout of aggression didn't particularly worry him. He would have no option but to make a full admission, but he knew Calleigh was right - he was unlikely to get more than a warning. It seemed trivial compared to the level of despair that was eating away at him.

So he would wait for Calleigh to conjure up some competent - female - shrink. He would see her, though he had little faith that it would do any good. He could recite his childhood woes, his career highs and lows, whatever it took… He would remember Speed… And Ray… Even talk about Mari… He could not imagine how this unknown woman - this stranger - would miraculously uncover a cause for his current misery, let alone cure it. He had always been cynical about so-called 'talking therapy', and knew that was unlikely to change in a hurry. However, he also knew he had to try. For the sake of his team, if not himself. He was aware that if he wasn't functioning properly, someone was likely to get hurt, and it might not be him. Despite what Calleigh had said, he wondered if he should remove himself from the front line… If not… well, he just had to try harder…

It took him the best part of the day to shake off the effect of his conversation with Calleigh. He hoped for a new case, something to take his mind off it, but, again unusually, it turned out to be a very quiet day. Once he felt he could concentrate again, he settled down to paperwork, collating evidence for court cases, writing up recent investigations. He was due to begin appraisals of his team, but, today, that was beyond him, and he put that task to one side.

He went home early, spent the evening brooding, went to bed. And didn't sleep.

It was two days before he had a further private conversation with Calleigh. This time, she came into his office and sat down uninvited.

She smiled. "How are you?"

He shrugged. "You know… Have you heard anymore about Leverbrook? I haven't…"

"I'm dealing with it."

He was startled. "Hey, don't put your neck on the block for me."

"I'm not."

"I mean it, Calleigh. I'm quite prepared to take whatever consequences there are."

"I know you are. That's not why I'm here…" She pushed a small business card across his desk.

"A shrink?"

"A psycho-therapist… She may suit you. She may not."

He read the card. "'Cecile Fournier' - French?"

"She is, although she's been in this country for twenty years or more."

"How do you know her?"

"I don't really. I more know _of _her… long story. She's semi-retired, in her sixties… Made her career working with the military… post-traumatic stress and so on." She noted his raised eyebrows. "Your prejudices are showing, H… She worked with police forces too. Put it this way, she's used to hard men, men who won't let down their guard or admit they need help."

He forced a smile. "Sounds… appropriate… Have you made me an appointment?"

"Of course not - it's up to you. Look, I'll help you all I can, but I don't want to push you into anything. I think she'll suit you, but if you try, and you're not comfortable, I'll look for someone else."

"All right. I've got to try, haven't I?"

"I think you should." She hesitated. "You know… it's not going to be a magic solution, don't you? It could take a very long time…"

"I know."

"And you do know I'm always here, if you want to talk…?"

"I know that too. And I may take you up on it" His smile this time was genuine. "You're a good friend, Calleigh."

"I hope so."

After she left, he picked up the card, and, before he changed his mind, called the number. The voice that answered him was warm, with the faintest trace of a French accent. For almost the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say.

"My name's Horatio Caine…"

"Ah, the head of the Miami crime lab…"

"You know?"

"I could say, you're famous… And I have heard your name - it is, after all, quite unusual. But that's a bit unfair - your colleague, Miss Duquesne, called me…"

"What did she tell you?" He felt at a slight disadvantage, which unsettled him.

"She only wanted to find out if I was still practising… I retired to Florida to sit in the sun… But it quickly bored me, so, yes, I am still practising…"

"I'm glad… What do I call you? Doctor…?"

"You call me Cecile. Unless you'd rather be more formal."

"No, I'm not really the formal type." There was a silence, which he felt compelled to break. "So… I suppose… Could I make an appointment with you?"

"Certainly. We have to meet… We have to discover whether we can work together. I don't know anything about you - Miss Duquesne was, of course, totally discreet. So, let's arrange something…."

As he finished the call, having arranged a meeting for the next day, he realised he was shaking slightly. It was ridiculous… He felt no nerves when interrogating a suspect, none when he was under cross-examination in a court of law, not a tremor in an IAB enquiry… Yet now, the thought of baring his soul - he presumed that was what he was expected to do - to an elderly French woman was making him profoundly uneasy.


	4. Chapter 4

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 4

Cecile Fournier lived in, and practised from, a smart beachfront condo. Horatio thought cynically that there was obviously good money in psycho-therapy. He had overcome his nerves. In fact, while keeping the appointment out of courtesy, he was prepared to say that it wasn't for him, and withdraw graciously. Calleigh wouldn't be pleased, but it wasn't up to her. He had slept surprisingly well the previous night - it was amazing what a good night's sleep did. While he could hardly say he felt like his old self, he certainly felt better than he had for a while. Typical… It was like making an appointment at the dentist, only to have the toothache disappear.

Cecile was a tall immaculately-groomed woman, with an unmistakeable air of French chic. In person, her voice owed more to New York than Paris, but it was warm and mellow, as was her smile as she invited him in. She had short grey hair, but looked closer to her fifties than her sixties. Horatio felt a moment's guilt at his 'old woman' thoughts.

He followed her inside, accepting her offer of a coffee, and a seat on the balcony.

"Beautiful day…"

"It is," she agreed, sipping her coffee, but seeming in no hurry to begin their consultation.

"Cecile… I have to say… I'm not sure about this."

She smiled. "Very few of my clients have started out willingly. Don't worry. Today, we're just going to get to know each other a little."

They talked in general terms, as any two strangers might. He learnt that she was divorced, had lived in Miami for five years, had intended to retire.

"I can't imagine retiring," he said. "Though they may make me."

"Not yet, surely?"

"I'm fifty-five. Feel older sometimes."

If she was questioning him, she was very subtle, and it was odd that he didn't mind. He felt surprisingly comfortable with this intelligent sophisticated woman. It was only towards the end of their time that she asked gently, "Do you feel able to tell me what brought you here? And is it voluntary, or have your superiors sent you?"

He sighed. "It's voluntary, I suppose. My superiors don't know anything about it. As to why… I hardly know where to start…"

She remained silent.

"I suppose… I'm depressed. But that's too simplistic… I'm in a job I used to love…"

"But not any more?"

"Not at the moment. My whole focus has gone. Everything that used to make it worthwhile seems to have vanished… I have the most wonderful team of people round me, and I'm letting them down…"

She nodded. "And why now? Why look for help now?"

He chuckled. "Calleigh - Miss Duquesne - pushed me into it. No, that's not fair… She made me face things I've been avoiding…" His expression turned somber. "She made me face the fact that I won't have a job, or even a life, if things don't change."

"What's your relationship with Calleigh?"

"She's my second-in-command. We've worked together for about ten years. Wonderful criminalist… And a dear friend… We're not romantically involved, if that's what you mean."

"I didn't mean that. Just asking."

"I suppose that's what you do… 'ask'…"

"Not really. Very little, in fact. You'll do the talking. If you want to do this."

"I don't think I'll be any good at it."

"Because you're a man? More than that, a senior police officer? Not used to revealing anything as personal as your feelings?" Her voice was gentle, her tone sympathetic. "You won't find it easy, I know that… But I do feel I can help you, if you'll let me."

"I don't know…"

"There are alternatives. Your doctor could put you on anti-depressants. I doubt they'll do you much good, though they might take the edge off the pain."

"Pain?"

"Wrong word?"

"Not really. Plenty of people take anti-depressants - they must work."

"For some they do. But they are, literally, mind-numbing. I believe the effect on an intelligence like yours would be… detrimental, to say the least. If they worked at all. They don't work for everyone."

He nodded. "I don't want to go down that road."

"Good."

He was silent for a while, then said, "So you think you can help me?"

"I think it's worth exploring. Don't you?"

He nodded slowly.

"You do realise I can't wave a magic wand… I only wish I could…"

"I know that. So what happens now?"

"We'll meet, a couple of times a week. We'll drink coffee. We'll talk."

"About?"

"Whatever you want. Your job, I would think, to begin with… The good things… And the bad… I'll merely guide you."

"That's all?"

"At first. It's not an exact science."

He smiled. "Shame. I'm used to exact science." He drew a deep breath. "OK. Let's do it."

"We have one or two… not rules… More like promises. I promise that anything that happens here stays confidential - I don't record our sessions; I do make notes, afterwards, but they're kept securely. From you, I want a promise to try to be truthful…"

"Of course."

"Don't say it so easily. We may go into areas where the truth is buried so far down, you've forgotten it. You may have embellished the truth with a more acceptable version - more acceptable to you, or others… Sometimes truths are just too painful… That's what we're going after. When you hit those barriers - and you will - I don't want to hear the 'revised' version. If you can't or won't tell me something, just say so. I'd rather have silence than something false."

"I'll try."

"I know you will. Most of all, Horatio, you have to trust me. I can cope with your reactions - you can cry, yell at me, refuse to answer… I'd rather you didn't break the furniture, but that aside… I _will_ help you." They stood up, and she walked him to the door. "We'll meet next week. If you need me in the meantime, you have my number."

Horatio drove back to the lab, feeling, for the most part, relieved. Relieved that the first step was taken, and that Cecile Fournier was not at all what he had been expecting. Even relieved that he was going to be able to share what he was struggling with. He realised it needed to be a stranger. There was no way he could drop his defenses with anyone else, even Calleigh. He seriously doubted he could drop them at all. Thirty-odd years in law enforcement, facing constant death and destruction, had, inevitably, given him a coping mechanism that would be very hard to disengage. Even now… Yes, his self-confidence was a bit shaky, he wasn't exactly happy, but he was still, he knew, phenomenally tough.

He still had to take a steadying breath to walk through the main doors, not knowing who he was going to meet, but, as it was, the reception area was empty. He met Eric by the elevator.

"Hey, boss…" His colleague sounded cheerful.

"You're happy. New girlfriend?"

"No, nothing like that. You remember that Jane Doe, on the beach…?"

"That might have been natural causes?"

Eric nodded. "Well, it's not. Tom and I had time to do some more work on her… We think it was murder… Suffocation."

"Good job, Eric." He smiled. "Now all you have to do is identify her and catch the killer. Keep me posted… I'll come down a bit later…"

He went to his office and called Calleigh. "Got a minute?"

As she joined him, he said, "I wanted you to know, I've seen your shrink… I can't keep calling her that… Cecile…"

"What did you think?"

"I liked her. I'm going to give it a try." He hesitated. "Calleigh… Leverbrook - tell me what's happening."

"I told you -"

"You're handling it, I know. I'm still the boss, Calleigh - I don't expect to be shielded. Tell me."

"Well, I told a little fib…"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Leverbrook's man was talking police brutality… I talked to the DA… I had to tell him you were away, and I was in charge."

"Go on."

"I think we've worked out a deal. No police brutality claim, and if he's found guilty - which he will be - no death penalty…"

"Calleigh… You didn't need…"

"I knew you wouldn't do it. You'd feel you had to take the rap. And… I thought… you've got enough to deal with at the moment."

He laughed briefly. "I don't know what to say. Other than thank you. I can't say I'm not relieved."

Her face straightened. "Don't be too relieved. Natalia isn't proving so easy."


	5. Chapter 5

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 5

Horatio sighed. "Natalia… Well, I can hardly blame her…"

Calleigh shook her head. "I've tried, Horatio. I told her I was handling things, but she's not seeing anything happen. And she won't, now that Leverbrook's backed down. And I'm sure as hell not discussing your personal business with her."

"I could."

"No, you couldn't! Horatio, that would be crazy. You're her supervisor. No way can you tell her what you're doing! Promise me you won't!"

He realised she was right. Any admission of his personal problems would immediately undermine his authority. It would destroy their confidence in him. Ultimately, it would destroy the team.

Calleigh added, more quietly. "It's OK that I know. We've been friends a long time. Nothing is ever going to alter my opinion of you. But you can't, you really can't, make this public knowledge. You _do_ see that?"

"I suppose I do. So… any suggestions?"

"You could just ignore it, and see what she does. I personally think she'll report you, at which point an IAB enquiry is inevitable."

"I can handle that."

"I'm sure you can, but you'll break this team in half. How are you going to work together? Will it force her resignation? And if it does, how are the others going to see it? _You_ crossed the line, and _she_ resigns?" She dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry, that was out of order…"

"No, it wasn't. You're absolutely right. None of this is Natalia's fault."

"There's a chance she won't say anything, but you're still left with a member of the team who doesn't trust you and who you'll have a hard job working with."

Horatio's earlier optimism drained. After his meeting with Cecile, he had felt almost buoyant, on a path to recovery. Now, all he saw was another insurmountable problem.

"What on earth do I do, Calleigh?"

"I don't know… I'll admit I find it quite hard to read Natalia… I _am _reasonably certain she hasn't discussed this with anyone but me, which is good. I'm also certain she's as uncomfortable about it as you are. She very much wanted to be part of your team, you know. She worked fantastically hard on her firearms training… She always wants to impress you…"

"And I shattered her illusions."

"Something like that."

"I've got to talk to her… Find a way to put this right…"

"You need to be very careful what you say… I'm sorry, I don't mean to tell you how to behave…"

"Don't pussy-foot round me, Calleigh. We're speaking as friends. Say anything you like. Anyway, I'm damned if I know how to approach her…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Coffee?"

She nodded, and he stood up and went to the coffee machine. They were both silent while he poured the drinks and brought them back to the desk.

He sat down. "I think a straightforward admission of guilt… I lost my temper. I shouldn't have. An apology to her… An offer to go to IAB myself… What do you think?"

Calleigh smiled. "Clever… Very you, actually. You're thinking she'll almost certainly say that IAB doesn't need to be involved… Should I sit in, do you think?"

He considered. It was something he'd rather do alone… but Natalia had trusted Calleigh, and it was doubtful she trusted him. "OK… Yes. Stay. Let's get it over with."

During the brief interview, Calleigh had to hide a smile. The conversation went exactly as Horatio had predicted. Faced with an act of contrition from her boss, Natalia seemed only too happy to put the matter to rest. If the air wasn't cleared, it was at least a little less murky. As she went out, Calleigh smiled openly.

"What?" He raised his eyebrows.

"You're good."

"I did mean it. I'm hardly proud of it…"

"I know… I didn't mean you weren't sincere. It's just… well, you have an instinct about how people will react."

"I would hope so, after all this time. No, I'm not proud, Calleigh… But I'd hate to be responsible for damaging this team… and I think I'm close to doing that."

"You're putting it right. I think the cracks will heal." She studied him for a moment. "You seem… I don't know… a bit less down…"

He sighed. "It comes and goes. But at least I'm trying to do something… And I'm never going to be able to thank you enough."

"No need, Horatio. It's what friends do." She stood up. "I must get back to work."

He nodded, watching her go, with a girlish wave of her hand. He sat back with a sigh. A sigh of relief for once. He knew he'd been let off the hook, far more easily than he deserved. Now he had to make sure the brutality didn't repeat itself.

He felt he needed a tough case to get his teeth into… Preferably one that didn't involve a sneering lunatic that he was likely to beat the crap out of. He thought about Eric's Jane Doe. He had seen the body on the beach… A totally unmarked body, in bra and panties… No ID. They had both thought 'natural causes', even though dying a natural death on a Miami beach in your underwear wasn't an everyday occurrence. But maybe it wasn't so natural…

There was a time when Jane, or John, Does worried Horatio more than anything else. The idea of someone so alone, so outside of society, that they could die and no one notice, affected him deeply. Of course, it was rarely so simple… He was conscious, however, that his level of empathy had waned, or at least changed. If someone wanted to be that far off the radar, didn't they have the right? Maybe they wanted to 'erase' themselves. Be forgotten, rather than remembered. Sometimes, he knew he did. Once or twice lately, he had even envied a dead person. Envied their peace…

He walked slowly down to the lab where Eric was working.

"Eric, your Jane Doe… What have you got?"

His colleague gave him a fond smile, as much as to say, 'I'm happy to see you, even if I don't need any help here.' Aloud, he said, "Not much. Tom found some tiny fibers in the trachea - very tiny, and a long way down…"

"What made him look again?"

Eric laughed. "I think he had time on his hands. 'Natural causes' seem to offend him."

"So… fibers?"

"Cotton, probably a towel. She's not a homeless person - her underwear is store-bought, but tidy, her nails and hair are clean… She wasn't moved… single lividity… No recent sexual activity. No signs of a struggle. No purse or other clothing. Though she could have walked there in her skimpies - this is Miami…"

"But Tom's sure it was suffocation?"

"Ask him - about ninety percent sure, I think."

Horatio nodded. He really had nothing to add - Eric knew what he was doing. "Keep at it… Someone must be missing her." Or were they?

Eric turned back to his work, but said quietly, "I heard you had a few problems with Justin Leverbrook…"

"A few. It seems to be sorted…"

"As long as you're all right."

"I am. But thanks."

He walked through the other labs. Everyone was in - it was an exceptionally quiet week as far as fieldwork went - but busily occupied. Ryan was so engrossed in something under the microscope that he didn't even see him. He nodded to Natalia, and got an uncertain smile in return - well, it would take time.

He returned to his office, and pulled up the staff appraisal forms. In the initial, 'General Comments', section, he typed, 'I don't deserve them,' then smiled and quickly deleted it.


	6. Chapter 6

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 6

Horatio was four sessions into his therapy with Cecile. His emotions were mixed. Mostly, a sense of disappointment. Logically, he knew there wasn't going to be a miraculous recovery, no moment of revelation… Yet, so far, he had felt nothing. Guided gently by Cecile, he had spoken about losing Speedle, and Jesse… The death of his mentor from the bomb squad… He felt he'd been truthful. He'd tried to be. But he also felt he had already dealt with those losses. They had discussed - though briefly - his loss of control with Leverbrook. Cecile hadn't considered it that significant, just a manifestation of his underlying torment.

There was a basic problem in the fact that he was, himself, a very skilled interviewer. So was she, and it sometimes turned into a sort of dance, where he knew why she was asking something, and where she was hoping to lead him. His reaction - an almost automatic one - was to turn the conversation in a different direction. He tried not to, and, so far, she hadn't challenged him about it. Given her background, he suspected she was used to it.

Today he asked her, rather despondently, "We're not getting anywhere, are we?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Where were you expecting to be?"

He sighed. "I suppose I expected to be… hurt. To find some sort of key to why I feel so… horrible…"

"It's not as straightforward as that, Horatio. We're touching on things that obviously were and are painful, but so far they're things you've already rationalized to yourself."

"You think I'm not being honest?"

"I think you're being completely honest, as far as you're aware."

"But?"

"You want me to tell you you're a hard case? That I haven't 'cracked' you? It's not how it works, Horatio. I'm not out to trick you, or catch you out. It's not an interrogation."

"I didn't mean that."

"I know. We're doing something that's very difficult, and it's very early days." She was silent for a few moments. "Do you like dogs?"

"What?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sudden change of subject. "I don't know… Why?"

"Oh, some of my clients find the presence of a sociable dog beneficial. It gives them something to do with their hands… And someone to talk to without feeling every question is a trick…"

He chuckled. "Talk to the dog… I had a dog when I was a kid… Not since - foster homes, then police academy… No chance really. So, in answer to your question, I don't know if I like dogs."

"Tell me about your dog."

"Is this a roundabout way to get me to talk about my childhood?"

"Do you want to?"

"Not particularly." He knew he sounded tetchy. "Sorry, I'm really not in the mood for this."

Cecile smiled. "I can see that. Don't worry. Not all days are productive. I'm going to make you some tea - English tea. Why don't you sit outside and relax?"

"And you'll send the dog out?" But he got up and went out to the balcony. He felt faintly guilty at wasting Cecile's time, but he couldn't help it. He had curtailed a tricky interview with a suspect to get here on time, and his mind was on that.

He leant on the railing and took a few deep breaths, smelling the sea. They never worked outside, since, as Cecile had pointed out, sound carried too easily between apartments. He went to sit down as she brought a tray out. She poured a cup and handed it to him.

"You're distracted… Difficult case?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"Please, don't be. Look, I'm in the happy position now of taking on only a few clients. I can, therefore, be flexible… I suggest we stop this session. You can get back to whatever you're itching to get back to. We'll pick it up next time… Maybe have a longer one."

"You don't mind?"

"I understand. What we're doing isn't easy. Often, my clients are on sick leave when they come to me, but you're still doing your regular job. I don't expect you to switch on and off like that. How about the evenings, or a weekend? Or do you work all the time?"

He smiled ruefully. "If I need to. Often, yes."

"We're booked for Tuesday. I'd like to see you, and I don't want to leave it too long, but if you're right in the middle of a case, postpone our appointment. Yes?"

He nodded, and sipped the tea. "I _am_ sorry though. I don't like wasting your time."

"I don't need your apologies, Horatio. Just a little more concentration than you've got today."

He chuckled. "OK. Deal." He finished the tea, and stood up. "I'll get back to my bad guy."

They slipped into a more comfortable routine. He did have to cancel once or twice, but he now recognised when his mood was so wrong that the session would have been a waste of time. He was, however, becoming conscious that he seemed to have very few emotions, or, at least, few he had access to. They had probed some of the more painful episodes in his life… and he found he simply wasn't reacting as he would once have done.

He tried to explain to Cecile. "I suppose you'll say I'm 'rationalizing' again… It's not that these events didn't hurt me… They did. I know that. It's just… at the moment…"

"You can't get at the feelings."

"I can't. It's not deliberate. I'm not hiding."

"I know you're not. The fact that you can sit there, and talk about your wife's death, without a tremor in your voice, without shedding a tear, tells me a lot about your state of mind…"

"Any of it good?"

"Not really. You told me yourself you're depressed. You're also afraid of losing control, which you admitted had happened once or twice. You're a strong man, used to pretty much total control… Now that the control is a bit… precarious… you're damned if you're going to let emotions get into the equation. Too much risk. You've shut down… as a sort of defense."

"Not consciously."

"Oh no, not consciously."

"Shouldn't that make me feel better, not worse?"

"No, because you know how much it's not you. I believe that normally you're a compassionate man. You've said as much. That you started out to 'make a difference'. To speak for the victims of crime. 'Protect and serve' weren't just words on a badge. I think you feel you're losing that part of yourself, and that's what hurting you so much."

"Ah, but is that cause or effect?"

"Probably effect. I don't believe for a moment that you set out to care less. I do believe you may have been hit so hard that this defense mechanism kicked in."

"I haven't been hit that hard. No worse than a lot of other people."

"It's not about 'a lot of other people'. Everyone has their own limits. It could be that yours was reached."

"I don't think so, but…" His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.

"How's Calleigh?" Not for the first time, the abrupt change of tack startled him, but he knew he brightened at the mention of her.

"Great. Though overly concerned about me, which isn't part of her job."

"What about the others?"

"All great. They always are. Well, I've had a bit of a problem with one of them… Natalia… she witnessed one of my 'loss of control' moments… Rather shattered her faith in me, but I hope we're getting back on track."

"And your wife's brother?"

"Eric? My Eric…" He smiled with obvious affection. "He's loyal to a fault. Much more than I deserve. I'm making him sound like a faithful hound… He's not like that. He's a brilliant CSI. After Calleigh, the best I've got. Very strong, brave… But I'm conscious that he'd follow me through the gates of hell, and I don't deserve that sort of devotion."

"You're very harsh on yourself. Look at the facts - you've got Calleigh, who, I've no doubt, went out on a limb for you. You've got Eric, who sounds as if he'd die for you. Don't you think you might have earned some of this?"

"Oh, once, maybe. Not now…"

"They're all still there."

"Yes, and that's at least part of the problem. If I'm off my game - and I think that's putting it mildly at the moment - then the risk to them is huge. If something happens, and one of them gets hurt, or worse…"

"You'll blame yourself."

"Justifiably."

"You've got the soul of a Catholic, Horatio - you'd blame yourself regardless. I wish you could turn that feeling round and realise you're also responsible for all the good things."

"We don't see a lot of good things."

"You've got a team of people who apparently adore you - even if you don't think they should; an arrest and conviction record that's off the scale - I researched you a bit… How many commendations have you got?"

He shrugged. "A few. Doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe not to you. I'm just trying to show you that if you take responsibility for the bad, you've got to take responsibility for the good." She smiled sympathetically. "We'll take it up next time. And try to stop being quite so hard on yourself."


	7. Chapter 7

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 7

The relatively quiet period at the lab changed abruptly, as uncovering a cocaine smuggling ring led them into a shootout with one of the many gangs that made their base in Miami. Although they had prevailed - two gang members dead, two more wounded, and one uniformed officer with a non-fatal bullet wound to the leg - and seven arrests - it left them with a huge amount of work to do. Forensics, ballistics, reconstructions. The gang weren't poor people, and the caliber of lawyers engaged would be high. They could not afford mistakes, or slipshod work.

Horatio knew he functioned best under these conditions, but he had cancelled three appointments in a row with Cecile.

He had told her it was necessary - he was just too busy. "Anyway, me, full of adrenaline, is probably not the best state for what we're doing."

She had agreed. "So how do you feel?"

"OK, at the moment. Once the pressure's off, I'll probably come down with a bump…"

"When you do, call me. Don't leave it too long."

It was three weeks since he had been to see her. They sat drinking coffee. "I'm sorry it's been so long."

"I understand." She smiled at him. "'You, full of adrenaline'… I'd quite like to have seen that. But, I agree, it wouldn't have been very productive. How are you now?"

He sighed. "Not too good. Very… anti-climaxed. It's happened before."

"And is probably normal. You see? You still do a good job… Still lead that precious team of yours… I know you're very conscious that things aren't right with you - and I'm not making light of it in any way - but I doubt it's half as obvious to everyone else as you think it is."

He smiled briefly, but didn't reply.

"But you still feel… what's your word?… 'horrible'?"

"Yes. You see, what we've had the last few weeks isn't complicated… Not mentally… They were evil men, we went in hard, and we took them down. And we'll get them in court. But I don't have to _think_ much about these sort of cases. I mean, I have to think about the evidence, and making the case watertight, but I don't have to think -" He smiled ruefully. "- emotionally."

"You mean no gray areas… No doubts over the right thing to do. No soul-searching."

He nodded.

"And now you've got time to think - emotionally - again…"

"Something like that."

"So have you given any thought to this defense mechanism of yours? This emotional shut-down?"

"Not much, except to think that you're probably right. That I'm 'shut down'. I'd call it 'switched off' or 'unfeeling'. Only thing is, if I didn't feel, I wouldn't hurt. So I don't understand… not really. What do we do about it?"

"Keep talking… Where were we last time?"

"Good things and bad things…" He smiled suddenly. "And Jackson."

"Jackson?"

"My dog. I haven't thought about him in years." He was silent for a while. "He meant the world to me… All I had… I mean, Ray was still a baby… Other kids wouldn't come round, because of my dad…" He looked at Cecile. "Do you know about my parents?"

"Tell me."

He suspected she had researched him enough to know, but he said tonelessly, "My father was a violent and abusive man. He killed my mother. Later, I killed him." He frowned at Cecile, narrow-eyed, and challenging. "Yes, I had a lousy childhood, but I've never denied it, and I doubt it has any relevance now."

"Probably not."

He was conscious of his desire to argue with her, but she had effectively forestalled him. He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly shaking. "He also killed Jackson…"

"Your father did?"

"Kicked him to death." He felt a completely unexpected rush of tears. "Oh God…"

He tried to halt the huge wave of emotion, and failed. He felt Cecile's hand on his knee, patting him gently. He didn't know how long the tears lasted. Once started, he couldn't stop. He curled up, arms round himself, head on his knees, and wept. After a while, he became aware of Cecile sitting beside him on the sofa, her arm round his heaving shoulders. Gradually… it seemed distant… he heard her voice. "All right… enough now…"

He raised his head, groped for the box of tissues she held, and tried to control himself. "I'm sorry…"

"Sshh… It's fine…" She released him as he sat up.

Voice still choking, he whispered, "I didn't expect that…"

"I know… Sit back… Just take it easy for a few minutes."

The persistent ache from his bullet wound was a tight pain across his belly, and he lay back, eyes closed, and tried to breathe normally. He felt Cecile get up and return to her usual seat.

After a few minutes, he opened swollen eyes, and murmured, "May I use your bathroom?"

Cecile silently directed him.

He rinsed his face, dried it, and gazed in the mirror. He hadn't cried like that in fifty-odd years, and the physical effect was considerable. His eyes were reddened, nearly closed, his skin blotchy. And he felt peculiar. Almost ill. Certainly dazed… He went back into the main room and sat down again.

Cecile was watching him, but didn't break the silence.

He said quietly, not looking at her. "I don't think that's ever happened to me…" He pulled another tissue out of the box, not using it, but twisting it in his fingers. "Certainly not over a scruffy little mongrel…"

"It's all right, you know," she said quietly. "At least we know your emotions are all there."

"Rather more than I bargained for. Why, Cecile? Why that?"

"I think, possibly, it was one thing you hadn't really rationalized - to use your favorite word."

"I suppose I hadn't. Compared with what came afterwards…" He looked at her then. "Is this good? Is this what you wanted to happen?"

"Horatio… you know better than that. I told you it was never about trying to break you."

"Well, you just did. Psychiatry's fall-back position, isn't it? Bad childhood?" He felt a flash of anger.

"I think, if you _hadn't_ sorted out your feelings about your upbringing a long time ago, you wouldn't have got where you are…"

"Which is where? A snivelling wreck on a shrink's couch?" He gestured to his face. "You realise I can't even go back to work, looking like this?"

He fell silent, a silence that lasted several minutes. Then he stood up, turning away from her.

"I can't do this anymore. Not today."

"That's all right… Do you want to just stay here a little while?"

"No, I want to go home."

"You'll come on Thursday?"

He nodded.

"Go on then. Take care."

He put his sunglassses on and went down to the car. He felt disoriented. His eyes stung, he felt sick, and his head was beginning to ache. Fairly sure, however, that his voice was steady, he phoned Calleigh.

"Anything going on?"

"No, boss. At least, nothing new."

"Good. I'm not coming back in today then." He didn't need to elaborate, but did anyway. "I'm… not feeling too good. Think I'm getting a cold…"

She accepted the explanation, even if she didn't believe him. After all, he never went sick with minor ailments. He rejected her offer to come round.

He started the car and headed home, finding he had to concentrate harder than usual just to negotiate the traffic. He turned up the air-conditioning, trying to feel better, to feel… normal. A couple of miles from home, head throbbing, he had to pull into a lay-by to throw up, grabbing his side as his bullet wound reminded him of its existence. He wondered, for a moment, if he really was ill. But probably not… just shell-shocked, he thought… And he was - shocked. Shocked that he could fall apart so completely. He had enough understanding of psychology to know that it wasn't just remembering little Jackson's miserable death that had caused it. Triggered it, certainly. But he suspected something far more complex had just happened.

He regretted walking out on Cecile, because he needed to understand, but, in truth, his physical state was making him seek the privacy of his own apartment. Out of public view… Even hers.

He drove home, took two painkillers, closed the thick drapes on his bedroom windows, stripped off his clothes, and crawled into bed.


	8. Chapter 8

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 8

Horatio braved the lab the next day. His face still showed the ravages of the previous day. Added to that, he had hardly slept, and he certainly hadn't eaten. The combination was leaving him mildly dizzy, and he kept his sunglasses handy and maintained his story of developing a cold. He retreated to his office, hoping to be left alone, but it was not long before Calleigh joined him.

She gazed sympathetically at him. "You look rough, boss…"

"Yeah…"

"Why don't you go home? We can manage, you know."

"Come on." He forced a smile. "You know me better than that."

"Yes, I do. After all, who stayed on duty after a gunshot?"

He didn't reply to that, remembering just how unwise that decision had probably been. "No offense, and I'm always glad to see you, but… did you want something?"

"I wondered how you were," she said honestly. "But I can see… Not that great…"

He felt he was being read like a book. He realised she didn't buy the 'cold' story for a second. They'd known each other too long. He sighed. "No, not great."

"Are you still seeing -? I'm sorry," she interrupted herself. "It's none of my business."

"I think it probably is, in the circumstances," he said gently. "Yes, I am. And it's hard going. And I _will_ tell you about it… But not yet."

She nodded. "Horatio… Just remember, I'm always here…"

"I will." But he realised that anyone being kind to him at the moment was oddly painful, and he willed her to go.

If he had plans for a quiet day, they were rudely interrupted, when a call came in from Frank Tripp about a siege situation currently unfolding.

"Why us?" Horatio spoke to Frank on the phone. "Isn't it a job for a hostage negotiator or at worst SWAT?"

"There's already one body - a woman, thrown out of the window… So you guys will be involved. There's at least one kid inside, being held hostage… It could be a nasty one. Thought you'd want in."

"Fair enough - give me the address…" He actually wondered if he was up to it, but it looked like he had little choice. "I'll see you there."

He collected Eric on the way to the garage.

"You can drive." He tossed the keys to the newest of the Hummers to his colleague and got into the passenger seat.

Eric drove fast, on lights and siren. "Heard you weren't well."

"Bit of a cold… You'll probably catch it."

Eric chuckled. "Expect I'll live. So what are we going to?"

Horatio repeated what Frank had said.

Eric was incredulous. "Someone thrown out of a window?"

"So Frank says."

What they found was a stand-off. The house was in a good neighbourhood, with a long front yard. A SWAT team, just arrived, was being held back. On the ground, near the house, a crumpled and motionless female body. A man sat astride an upstairs window-sill, with what appeared to be a gun held against the head of a young boy. Horatio and Eric joined Frank Tripp.

"Where's the negotiator?" Horatio asked urgently.

"On his way. Stuck in traffic, would you believe? Not sure we can wait. He's jittery."

"Wonderful! What about her?" He gestured to the body. "Do we know she's dead?"

"He says he's going to shoot if anyone goes to look…"

Eric touched his boss's arm. "I'll go. I'll borrow a vest."

"No, you won't," Horatio said quickly. "If anyone goes, it's me. And we can't risk the child…"

Frank snapped. "Neither of you's going! I don't intend to lose anyone to this scumbag! Including the hostage."

While it was true that Horatio held the higher rank, it was Frank's show. He was virtually there by invitation… He moved back to talk to the SWAT commander. "I presume you can't get a shot…?"

"Not while he's holding the boy like that."

Horatio nodded, and moved back to stand by Eric.

Eric murmured, "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know…" He looked back at Frank. "Is there a back way?"

"Thought of that. Only down that side passage - in view of our perp… And we don't know if there's access, even then."

"We should look… Eric and I can go… We'll go round the block and get in from the house behind…"

"If he hears you, he'll shoot."

"He won't hear us. Frank… give us five minutes, then distract him. Nothing major - just move a few guys about, start a car engine. Don't rattle him, but keep him eyes front. If we can't get in silently, we'll come back. OK?"

The back door of the house was closed. Horatio put a careful hand on the handle. Inch by inch he lowered it, praying that his hand didn't slip, that the door didn't spring open with a clatter. And that it wasn't locked. Then, from the front, he heard the sound of the big SWAT wagon starting its engine, mouthed, "Thank you, Frank," and silently pushed the door open. Only after he'd done it, did he wonder if there were others in the house. He swallowed a wave of nausea at the realisation of his carelessness, but he seemed to have got away with it. The place was silent.

He indicated to Eric to take his shoes off, doing the same himself. "Turn your phone off. Then not a word," he whispered. "Silent as the grave…"

They crept, foot by tentative foot, across a kitchen, a hall, and onto the stairs. Outside, there were raised voices - Horatio hoped it was part of the distraction, rather than the start of something. He inched up the staircase, close to the wall, feeling for creaking boards. Upstairs, directly ahead, a door stood slightly ajar. He signalled to Eric to stop. His leg muscles were trembling from the strain of the stealthy approach, but his hands were steady. He wiped his palms on his pants then relevelled his gun, as he slid silently across the three feet of floor to the crack in the door.

The man was perched on the window-sill, a boy of about nine held against his chest. He was looking away from them, apparently intent on the activity outside. The gun looked like a nine-mill, a real one… It could have been a replica… No way of knowing. Horatio moved back a few inches, against the wall, desperate that the man didn't catch any movement out of the corner of his eye. He signalled to Eric to be prepared to push the door open. He took a deep breath, mouthed "One, two, three…" and, as Eric pushed the door wide, shot the man on the window-sill in the head. The man crumpled to the floor, Eric caught and held the child, and Horatio, suddenly light-headed and exhausted, sank into a nearby chair.

Late the following afternoon, he stood with Cecile Fournier in her kitchen, as she made coffee.

"You were on the news…" she said.

"I know. A boy hostage… Mother dead already. Real mess…"

"You saved the boy."

He sighed. "I splattered him with his stepfather's brains…"

"I assume you had no option."

"There are always options, Cecile. But no, I didn't think so, at the time."

She nodded, handing him a coffee. He followed her back into the main room, and they sat down.

"How do you feel about it?"

"That we all could have handled it better. As I said, real mess…"

"Not your fault, Horatio." She saw him about to protest. "I mean it, no guilt trips."

He fell silent, sipping the coffee.

After a while, Cecile said quietly, "I've been worried about you."

"Why? You mean, last time?" He thought for a moment. "Can you explain it to me? Why I went to pieces, over something like that?"

Cecile was silent for a while. "I'll try to help you understand… As far as _I_ understand it - as I said, it's not an exact science…"

"If it was, I'd have it under the microscope by now…"

"I'm going to say one or two things that I think I've learned about you… It's not the way therapists usually do it. The received wisdom is that the patient needs to make his own discovery, or it's not valid. But you're a slightly unusual case, in that I think your hardest job is admitting how much things actually affect you…"

"I'm here, aren't I? And I have tried to tell you how I feel… I haven't been hiding anything…"

"We've been talking about 'effect' - the shut-down emotions, the lack of satisfaction in the job, the sporadic violence… I want to look at causes… A lot of people I've seen over the years… the cause is obvious, and we deal with the effects… I saw some of the fire-fighters after 9/11... No doubt about the cause. You… well, you're different… I know your job takes you into really bad situations, like yesterday, and I know you've often had to take lives in the line of duty… and I really don't think that's what's thrown you so badly off track. You seem - to me - to handle all that very well…"

"Lots of practise…"

"Exactly."

"So?"

"So it's probable that the job isn't the cause. I've been thinking about your personal life - what I know about it…"

He chuckled briefly. "I don't have one really."

"That may be part of the problem - and we can come back to it - but that wasn't where I was going. I started to list what I saw as 'personal' events. Things that have happened to you that aren't directly down to your job… Certainly things that aren't your fault, although…" She hesitated. "You can challenge me if you want to… But it's such a list, even I was shocked… Do you need me to spell it out?"


	9. Chapter 9

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 9

"I'll go through this quickly," Cecile said. "You can stop me if you want, and I'm not trying to cause you further upset, but I really need to make you see that an abnormal amount of hurt has come your way, and it may - I stress _may _- have caused this shutdown…"

"I still say my life hasn't been worse than many other people's…"

"Let's see, shall we? We'll start with your childhood, not to dwell on it, just as the obvious starting point… Your mother dies, at your father's hand. You go into foster care… Were you and your brother separated, by the way?"

Horatio nodded.

Cecile continued, "So you're effectively alone at what? Twelve?"

"About that."

"You grew up in foster homes… You weren't adopted, were you?"

"I was a fairly unattractive proposition…"

"How was school?"

"OK, surprisingly. I had a good brain. I quite enjoyed it. And I was an aggressive bastard - I certainly never got bullied."

She let that pass. "So you got into police academy. Did well, I've no doubt. When did you meet up with Raymond again?"

"About then. As soon as he finished college, he followed me to the academy…"

"Rivals?"

"We were some years apart in age, so not really. Though he always wanted to do whatever I did."

"Were you close?"

"Not particularly. We'd been separated too long maybe. I did try to guide him… I really tried to keep him away from undercover narcotics work… Unsuccessfully, of course."

"Which got him killed…"

"Yes, though not how I first thought." He looked at her with a faint smile. "If you're keeping score, you missed out my father. And I lost Raymond twice."

Cecile frowned. "Do you want to stop?"

He shrugged. "Not if you think it's useful."

"I'm not sure it is… but we'll go on… Your friend from the bomb squad… Al?"

"Al blew himself up. You don't join the squad without accepting that risk."

"But not your fault. Then… Tim Speedle?"

His expression changed a little, unable to maintain the slight air of flippancy he had adopted so far. "One of my original team… lovely guy… Wouldn't keep his gun clean though."

"Is that why he died?"

He nodded. "That's not in the official version, but yes."

"And not your fault."

"Sure as hell felt like it…"

She paused for a moment, studying him. "Then your wife."

"They wouldn't have shot her if she hadn't been married to me."

"So your fault?"

"Obviously."

"I presume she wasn't forced to marry you…"

He glared. "I was supposed to protect her!"

Cecile nodded. "Let's move on… Jesse? Another of your team? I understood he hit his head - an accident…"

"Except that if my lab hadn't been targeted - if _I_ hadn't been targeted - it wouldn't have happened."

"Possibly… Have I left anyone out?"

"Couple of girlfriends. It's almost a joke - don't date Horatio Caine, you'll end up dead." He stared at her defiantly. "You see? Not that bad. But almost all down to me."

"Do you know how self-centered you are?"

"What?" Used to Cecile's gentle and sympathetic manner, her comment brought him up short.

"You are. Well, maybe that's not quite the right expression. I certainly don't mean selfish, far from it. But everything has to be down to you. These are adult people we're talking about - Speedle could have chosen to clean his gun; Marisol, I'm sure, thought about the risks when she married you, and decided to do it anyway; Raymond chose his own path, wisely or unwisely; Jesse was merely unlucky… Yet everything has to rest on those broad shoulders of yours. Nobody's allowed to take responsibility for themselves. It's all down to you."

"That's unfair," he murmured.

"Yes, it is, a little. I know how seriously you take your position."

He was silent for a while. "I can't help it, you know," he said at last. "I'm not actually disputing what you say, but it's so deeply ingrained now…"

"But would you concede that you can't carry on like it?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I really don't know…"

"I want you to give it some thought. I want you to think about whether you can - or even should - try to 'manage' grown adults, beyond the bounds of the job. We haven't even touched on your feelings of responsibility for crime victims…" She sighed. "I don't think I've convinced you for a minute, but my honest opinion is that you've simply overloaded yourself. Your reaction when we talked about your dog suggests that. You've had to handle a large number of personal tragedies, most of which your temperament makes you feel responsible for - I accept you can't help it. But you really weren't - it's desperately sad that these things happened, and obviously you'll grieve. But you can't carry around so much guilt. You really do need to do something about it." Unusually, she leant over, and covered his hand with her own. "Does any of this make sense to you?"

He shook his head slowly. "No… I don't know… I need to think…"

She nodded. "Do. See if you think there's any truth in what I've said. You may decide there's not. We'll leave it for today… Would you like some tea?"

As before they repaired to the balcony. He felt disheartened, and miserable. So he'd cared too much, and now he didn't care at all? And _could_ you care too much?

Cecile said gently, "Don't be upset… Just think about it, and we'll talk some more. Now, can I ask you something which isn't my remit?"

"Of course."

"Do you have trouble sleeping?"

He chuckled. "Always. Why?"

"Because you look totally exhausted."

He shrugged. "I've never been a good sleeper. It's a bit worse at the moment."

"I think you should see your doctor. Ask him for something…" She halted his protest. "Just something mild, for a few weeks. You'd feel better for it."

"All right, I'll think about that too."

"And… are you in pain? I mean physically…"

"What? Why would you think so?"

"Oh, you seem to flinch a little when you stand or sit… Hardly noticeable. Bad back?"

He smiled ruefully, but shook his head. "I took a bullet a couple of months back. Nothing much - flesh wound." He touched the place in his side. "Stings a bit."

Cecile nodded. "Ask your doctor if it should. As I've said, you're carrying too much. The physical things won't help. Get yourself sorted out." But her voice was kind. "Now, give all this some thought… Come back next week, but phone me anytime if you want to."

It was late, and, after checking with the lab, he drove home. His brain was teeming with the thoughts Cecile had put there, and, as usual, he slept badly. In fact, he was so tired the next day, that he resolved to speak to his doctor. Well, a doctor. He thought he'd probably have a quick word with Tom, at the lab.

Before that though, he called Calleigh. "You busy?"

"Always, Horatio. Now, what would you say if I said I was sitting here doing my knitting?"

He chuckled. "Fair enough. But have you got a couple of hours, around lunchtime?"

"I have. You want to talk…" It wasn't a question.

"If you can stand it. I need to clear my thoughts a bit."

"It's a beautiful day. Why don't we go sit on the beach?"

"Picnic?" He laughed. "OK. You sort something out - I'll pay. Midday - see you downstairs."


	10. Chapter 10

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 10

Horatio and Calleigh sat side by side on a seat overlooking a relatively quiet stretch of the beach. They were silent for a while, but easy in each other's company.

"How's everybody?" Horatio asked at last. "I should know the answer, but… I don't know… I seem to be getting out of touch with them…"

"It won't hurt for a little while - you've got a lot on your mind."

"How's Natalia?"

"Well…" Calleigh hesitated. "I don't know if I should say… she's finding herself a bit isolated."

He looked at her. "Why?"

"You know what the gossip's like in that place… Everyone seemed to get some version of what happened with you and Leverbrook… and her. Now _I_ certainly didn't say anything. And I haven't added to the gossip…"

"I certainly haven't. Who knows where it came from? The lab's always been like that. Nothing's secret. So what's happening?"

"Basically, they all sided with you. Eric would, obviously. Ryan thinks a dirtbag like Leverbrook is fair game, and doesn't really see a problem. Walter… I'm not sure he's got an opinion on it, but he clearly feels the team should back their boss. So Nat's a bit on her own."

"I'll talk to her again. I don't want her to think she was wrong."

"Leave it, Horatio. It's only break-room chitchat for now. And… you'll think I'm hard… it might do her good to think about the bigger picture and team morale."

He was doubtful, but, in the back of his mind, heard Cecile's warnings about taking on responsibility for the behaviour of 'grown adults'. "OK, but keep me posted - if it starts getting out of control, tell me."

"Of course. And, while there may be few secrets, your… personal matters most certainly are. I promise you that." She squeezed his hand quickly. "I presume that's what you want to talk about."

"I've had a few long difficult sessions with Cecile… Yesterday, we got to the point of her suggesting that I simply carried around too much guilt. I don't think I do… but she's the expert… And that's what she sees…"

"Guilt about what? You've got precious little to feel guilty about…"

"She says… I feel guilty about everything that happens… Speed, Ray… and, of course, Mari…"

"Do you?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well then, I kind of agree with her… Because you really can't justify feeling that guilty. Speed and Ray brought things on themselves, didn't they?"

"But not Mari…"

"No, but I have no doubt she knew what she was getting into. After all, she had a brother in the same job for a lot of years. There's no way she didn't know the risks."

"To me, maybe. Not to herself."

"I don't know, Horatio. Perhaps she didn't see herself as a target… But you couldn't have done more - you can't wrap someone up, lock them away, just to keep them safe… You really have no reason to blame yourself."

"But I do."

"I know you do. And Cecile may be right - you do take responsibility for all sorts of things that aren't your fault. Almost as if it's a challenge… With regard to Marisol… if you were in any way to blame, do you think Eric would feel so utterly protective of you?"

"_Protective_?"

"Oh yes. You don't see it, I expect."

"Well, it's not the first word that comes to mind." He fell silent.

Calleigh busied herself opening some packets of food she had brought, and placing them, and some bottles of iced tea, on the bench between them.

He picked up a tea, flipped the top, and took a sip. "She called me self-centered."

Calleigh chuckled. "That, to me, suggests you only think of yourself, in which case she couldn't be more wrong."

"She did say it wasn't quite the right word. I gathered she meant that I feel I have to take responsibility for everything, whether I should or not."

"Well, that I'd agree with."

He nodded thoughtfully. "It's my job though, isn't it?"

"In the broadest sense, yes. You're the boss. The buck stops with you, and all that…"

"So I can't do anything about it."

"Well, Horatio… There's responsibility. And there's guilt. If one of us screws up, say… I know you'd take responsibility, support us through any repercussions, and so on. But if you felt _guilty… _assuming we'd screwed up on something we knew perfectly well how to do… and if you carried that guilt for a long time… Then I can see what she's getting at. Although, I suppose… If something bad happened because of our screw-up… Sorry, that wasn't very coherent… See, how useful am I? Have something to eat…"

"Not hungry…"

She looked at him sympathetically. "Not eating and not sleeping… From the look of you…"

He shrugged. "I'll survive."

"I'd like to see you do more than 'survive'. Call me sentimental, but I'd actually like to see you as you used to be."

"Too much water under the bridge since then…"

"That's fair. Life happens to all of us. But I would so love to see you enjoying it again." She gazed at him. "Not much chance, eh?"

"Doesn't feel like it."

They sat in silence. At last, Calleigh said, "Do you accept what Cecile said?"

"I think I have to. Not sure what to do about it…"

"Well, I'm sure she'll help you. I'll help you, of course, but I don't really know what I'm doing…What I was saying just now related to the job. If you're feeling guilt about things that aren't even to do with it… Oh, I so much want to help."

"You're helping me, Calleigh… You're listening." He turned to face her. "Tell me what to do."

"Oh, sweetheart… I don't know, do I? Can you switch off something that's obviously part of your nature?"

"I seem to have switched off everything else - that's what started all this." He sighed. "It's very odd - I thought my problems were about 'switching off', and Cecile said as much… I've switched off most of my emotions, any compassion and understanding I might have had once… I know I'm doing the job on auto-pilot… and I never used to be like that. That hostage thing the other day… it was Eric who had to look after the kid… I was just sitting watching…"

"But you're left with the guilt?"

"Doesn't make sense, does it?"

"It must do, since it's what's happened. From what you're saying… you're drowning in guilt, with this supercharged sense of being responsible for everything… And your perspective's just about gone…"

He nodded unhappily. "Sorry, Cal, I'm not expecting solutions. I just needed to talk."

"Anytime, Horatio… You know that." She watched him run a hand across his face. "It breaks my heart to see you like this… You will go back to Cecile, won't you?"

"Have to, now. What other option have I got?"

They had little further conversation. He wasn't hungry, and she had lost her appetite. As they stood up to go, she held her arms out to him, and held him as loving an embrace as she could manage. It was all she could do.


	11. Chapter 11

GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 11

It was a week before he returned to Cecile. He had begun to take mild sleeping pills, and admitted to feeling better, if a little thick-headed in the mornings. He'd thought over everything that Cecile, and Calleigh, had said, and reached no real conclusions.

Now he sat in his usual place, facing Cecile, nursing his usual mug of coffee.

She studied him. "You look a bit better…"

"Sleeping pills - I did as you said."

"And what we talked about?"

"I'm not arguing - I think you're probably right. I don't know what to _do _about it. I was hoping you'd tell me…"

"We'll work on it. No magic wands though, remember?"

He sighed. "How long?"

"Horatio, I can't answer that. We'll work on it. That's all I can promise. What I will say is that if you accept what's wrong, we're halfway there." She smiled at the expression of doubt on his face. "You're a very intelligent man, so we'll do this logically… We'll go back over things and try to drive the unwarranted guilt away. You're going to let some things go… We'll look at the responsibilities you undoubtedly have to have for your job, but we'll make sure they're not excessive."

"That easy, eh?"

"No. Very hard. You're going to have to discipline yourself to react in a way that may feel alien to you. You may have to force yourself to do or not do things a certain way. It _will_ all come back to being automatic… We'll get you out of this emotional wasteland you've made for yourself." She smiled at him. "At the moment, I know, you're very upset - probably even more so than when we started - but it's going to start getting better. It really is. Better, and easier."

"Wish I could believe it."

"You don't have to believe it. You have to be willing to try. We'll look at how you're relating to members of your team…"

"Hardly at all."

"I don't believe that. You may have lost some of the closeness that was important to you, and you need to re-establish it. And it's possible… we'll look at it later… that you need to give yourself a personal life, work slightly less hard. I'm not sure about the last one, because I actually think you thrive on hard work." She paused, then said, "How does that sound?"

"Daunting."

"But necessary?"

"Oh yes."

"And the next time something unpleasant happens, it's not your fault, right?"

He nodded, then laughed.

"What's funny?"

"Timing. I'm going to have to skip our Tuesday session. I've got to go to a funeral in New York."

She raised her eyebrows.

"My one-time partner - the man who eased my passage into the NYPD, real old-school cop… He died in a nursing home a few days ago… I'd like to go…"

"Was it your fault?"

"What? Oh no, not at all. He had cancer."

Cecile smiled. "Well, it's a start, Horatio."

(Note to my patient readers… First, thanks for all your encouraging comments. I've wanted to do this one for a while, but I knew a lot of people didn't see him at all like this. Anyway, I'm going to stop it here, or we'll get very repetitive. He's got work to do, but I'm sure he'll get there. S.)


End file.
